


everything stays (but it still changes)

by fangirl_squee



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate universe - role swap, Gen, a very small appearence by samot, pre-romance stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 19:18:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19910857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: The more things change, the more they follow the same path (Roleswap au).





	everything stays (but it still changes)

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [vlasdygoth's art on twitter](https://twitter.com/vlasdygoth/status/1151245462571110400/) .
> 
> thanks to maddie, for betaing.

_ Fero _

Fero had always been too twitchy to properly fit into Rosemerrow society, not good enough at the social pleasantries one needed to move around Rosemerrow without admonishment. Honestly, he had been thinking about leaving, finding a new place to be where he wouldn’t have to worry about that stuff at all. He'd even started making his way into the forest, seeing how easy it would be for him to slip away into the old trees, forever. 

Rosemerrow grated on him more every day. The rules, the near-worship of the past, not to mention the constant meticulous maintenance of social connections.

“Fero,” said his aunt, her shadow falling over where he was lying on the grass. “I need you to run this letter across town.”

Fero raised himself up on his elbows, eyeing the letter. It was more of a postcard, really, his aunt’s delicate script curling across it.

“What’s it for?”

“I am responding to an invitation.” 

She shook the postcard at him, prompting Fero to take it.

“Can’t you just tell them?” said Fero, scanning his eyes over the words. “This is for Isa, don’t you see them, like, every day at the market?”

“Yes,” said his aunt, “but this is the proper way to respond.”

Fero groaned.

“One day,” said his aunt, “you will understand this process a little better.”

Fero groaned again, louder.

His aunt crossed her arms. “Fero. I do not have time to run this letter across town myself, and goodness knows you certainly will enjoy the trip more than I will.”

“I guess,” said Fero. He tapped the letter against his palm. “What’ll you give me if I do it?”

This part of Rosemerrow culture Fero understood, at least. Don’t work for free.

“I’ll teach you how to use my woodworking tools properly,” said his aunt.

Fero hummed. He was sure he'd need to know how to use tools like that once he was on his own.

“O _ kay _ ,” said Fero, slowly rising to his feet, “I  _ guess _ I can waste my time with this.”

“Good,” said his aunt, “don’t dawdle.”

“I won’t,” said Fero, turning to begin his walk into town.

“And don’t get into trouble!” his aunt called after him.

“It’s just a walk across town,” said Fero, “how much trouble could there possibly  _ be _ ?”

Fero, of course, could easily get into trouble anywhere. Things were more interesting that way.

He took a winding route back through the city. It was longer, but also he had been forbidden to do so, which always made it infinitely more appealing. Especially when it was an area of town so unlike the farm-and-tourist-trap area he came from.

This part of the city was louder, the people moving faster through the streets. Fero took a deep breath of the cold night air, pausing the listen to the noise of the city. A raucous cheer caught his attention, pulling him towards the open basement doors of a nearby tavern. 

Light and the heat of a crowd poured from the underground room, the crowd facing inward to a central point. Fero tugged at the jacket of the halfling closest to him. 

"Hey! What's going on?"

"Fight night!"

Fero frowned, going up in tiptoes in an attempt to see over the crowd. "Fight night?"

"Fight night, yeah!"

"What's that?"

The other halfling looked at him suspiciously. "What do you  _ mean,  _ what's that? You a cop?"

Fero laughed. " _ Never  _ in my  _ life _ !"

That seemed enough to satisfy the other halfling. "It’s  _ fight night _ , and it's a big one!" The halfling gave him another look, this one more appraising that suspicious. "If you've never seen it, you should get to the front. Kid like you can get through a crowd more easily than me."

Fero thought about how much trouble he was going to catch at home from being late. Then again, he wasn't really planning on sticking around town too much longer. 

"Sure," said Fero, "how do I-"

"Use your elbows," said the other halfling, pushing him forward. 

Fero wriggled through the crowd until he got to the front, sweaty and scowling at the people he had just pushed past. He turned to look down into the fighting pit.

Two shirtless halflings fought in the middle of the pit, flinging each other around and throwing punches, their movements frantic, reminding Fero of an animal caught in a trap. One of the halflings caught the other around the middle, picking them up and  _ hurling  _ them into the side of the fighting pit. The walls of the pit  _ rattled _ with the force of it and there was a collective yell from the crowd. Fero’s breath caught in his throat as the halfling struggled to their feet, shaking their head as though they were trying to clear it before they stumbled towards the halfling that had thrown them, their arms outstretched and their expression nothing less than  _ wild.  _

Fero felt breathless. He also felt like this was the first place he could breathe other than the forest in a long time. He eyes followed every motion, he body bracing itself for every blow, his own loud voice lost, for once, in the roar of the crowd.

He stayed until well after the match was over, hanging over the edge of the fighting pit to talk to the winner. 

"How'd you do that, y'know?" asked Fero, miming the motion of flinging someone, like the other fighter had done to them earlier.

"It's all about thinkin’ about what they call your centre of gravity," said the fighter, "here, slide down, I'll show ya."

Fero glanced towards the door. Well. He was  _ this  _ late home. May as well be a little later and learn something. 

The halfling positioned Fero’s arms, guiding him through the movement, getting him to lift and throw them, although instead of being slammed into the wall they easily landed on their feet. Fero tried the move over and over until the muscles in his arms  _ burned _ . 

"Yeah, that's it," said the other halfling, grinning. 

Fero made a face. "Yeah, but you're  _ letting  _ me do it, that's not the same. How do you do it for  _ real _ ?"

The other halfling considered him for a moment. "For real, huh. Well. You come on back here tomorrow, I'll see about teachin' you how to do it for real."

"I  _ will  _ then," said Fero. 

Fero stuck out his hand. The other halfling took it, shaking it once before sliding their grip up Fero's arm, tugging Fero off balance and pushing him to the floor. Fero wheezed, the breath knocked out of him.

The other halfling looked down at him. "We'll see about workin’ on your balance too, I'm thinkin'."

"Yeah," Fero managed to say, struggling to get up. "I guess I should learn that first."

The other halfling laughed. "Well, you got the right attitude for fightin’ at least."

  
  
  


_ Adaire _

Adaire hugged the book tight to her chest. It had been so difficult to get: a series of well-placed bribes and distractions (and being very,  _ very _ fast), but it was all worth it. She locked the door, and put her chair under the handle, just in case. She closed the blinds, using a hairpin to keep them fixed in place. She lit a candle, carefully holding it above the book.

“Oh, you have to be  _ kidding _ me!”

_ Practical Spellcasting, a Guide of the Magic Arts in All Their Forms _

Adaire hurled the book across the room, where it hit the wall with a loud  _ thud _ . She huffed a breath, flopping back onto the bed and covering her face.

All that effort, all that planning, and she hadn’t even stolen the right book.

She raised herself up on her elbows. The gold-gilt writing on the cover of the book shone bright in the candlelight, stubbornly remaining a spellcasting book and not the copy of  _ Practical Surgeries and Other Cures _ that she had actually wanted to take. Adaire glared at it.

She took a deep breath in, letting it out slowly. Fine. She’d just… start the whole process again, with the added wrinkle of having to  _ swap _ something instead of just  _ steal _ it and that the shopkeeper knew her face now.  _ Fine. _ She could do that, and then she’d have all the medical knowledge she’d need.

She pushed herself off the bed, moving to retrieve the book. It didn’t look any worse for wear from having been thrown. Adaire flipped through it, making sure the pages we unwrinkled, stopping every so often to make sure the binding of the pages was holding up.

One of the page titles caught her eye.  _ Simple cures for simple ailments _ . Adaire frowned, thinking a moment before she let her eyes drifted down the page. She’d already stolen the book. She might as well get  _ some  _ use out of it before she took it back.

The cure looked surprisingly simple, take a few plain ingredients, be magical at it, you had a cure. She could do that. Probably. Maybe.

She  _ could _ , as it turned out. Quite easily.

Adaire could do the other spells in the book too. Candle flames lit as she commanded, her bag floated instead of needing to be carried, her room gathered dust into a pile and swept it out the door for her.

This magic stuff was pretty easy actually. Maybe she’d stick with it, just for a bit, and see how it went.

  
  
  


_ Hella _

Hella was frightened of fire. She shouldn’t be. To be Ordennan is to be fearless.

Still, each time she saw fire, Hella felt afraid. Not of being burned, not of death or destruction, but because the fire  _ called _ to her, in a way no thing should. Her hands itched to go to the flames, to pull them towards her, into her.

She tried to stay away from it but that, of course, was impossible, not least because of all the people in her life trying to get her to  _ face her fears _ , bringing her close to bonfires and camps.

_ They would be afraid of  _ me, thought Hella, standing stiffly, her hands shoved deep into her pockets,  _ If they knew _ .

She knew there were accepted uses of magic, cases where even the most hard-line Ordennan official would say the use of it was justified, even  _ righteous _ , but those were all situations of last resort. No one ever mentioned, in those rare stories, anything about seeing magic all around you, every day, and knowing,  _ knowing, _ that you could do  _ anything _ with it.

As afraid as she was of fire, it was not at all afraid of her. It wasn’t as though she thought it was alive, and yet, at times it  _ felt  _ as though it was, arching towards her, trying to curl around her arms like an overly-affectionate pet. Normally, she ignored it, or took time to coax it into burning itself out, but she was in a bad mood from an argument with her sister and being out in the rain, and she swatted it away, the motion fast and hard as a punch.

The fire flicked onto a wooden beam, beginning to smoke. Hella gasped and the fire seemed to expand with her breath, racing upwards, crackling in the thatched roof. Hella stared, her eyes wide as the flames overtook the room. She could hear her parents frantic yelling, getting the rest of the family out of the house, calling to each other to grab precious family items before they could be destroyed.

She shook her head, pulling herself out of the broken window to join the rest of her family gathered in front of their home. Her clothes were streaked with ash, singed a little where she had walked through the flames. She wasn’t hurt, though. Strangely, she felt better than she had in  _ months _ , actually, bouncing on the balls of her feet as the flames cracked the roof in two.

Hella thought of the way the flames had felt in her hands as she parted them, the power underneath them that was  _ hers _ for the taking, the way the fire  _ wanted _ to do her bidding, the way it took joy in obeying her will. Her head spun with it.

It wasn’t until the fire has burned itself out that Hella begun to felt afraid again. Not of the fire this time, but of the people. No tiny candle flame burnt that fast on damp wood. No  _ ordinary _ flame did, anyway.

Her family huddled around the hearth of neighbour, clutching the small things they had managed to save. The embers of the fire called out to her, greedy, lonely. They seemed louder now that she’d heard them in full force.

Hella’s stomach churned. Someone would  _ know _ . Someone would find her out.

She took the next boat she could find to Velas. They had magic there, she’d heard. Surely someone there could get it out of her.

  
  
  


\--

  
  
  


Adaire didn’t know anyone in Velas proper, which made it the perfect place to start over. There was plenty of old buildings, enough that she easily found a place that had two homes in between her and her nearest neighbours. It had made her seem a little strange, perhaps, to seek out a place in the city that was so separate from others, but she would rather seem odd than be disturbed while she was trying to work.

It was easy enough to find a place that had fit her specifications. Apparently people had been moving out of the suburb lately, something about a spate of arsons, although her landlord assured her that there was nothing for her to worry about. 

Adaire had looked into it anyway, of course. It didn’t seem like anything too serious - fireplaces burning more strongly than people had been expecting or candle flames jumping. She was pretty sure she could handle that.

She set down her small bag of belongings, carefully lifting out a bowl, a few vials, some herbs, and then, with great care, a tightly wrapped book.

She slowly unwound the fabric. The book was a little battered, the pages dog-eared and the gold-glit writing on the cover worn away to glittering flecks. Adaire ran a finger along the title page, down the list of spells. Some - healing spells, protection charms, invisibility - had been repeated enough on her journey that she knew them by heart. Others she had yet to really try, until now. Here, in this space that was just for her, she could truly find mastery of-

_ BANG! _

Adaire jumped to her feet. The sound had come from the house that shared a wall with her’s, a house she had been assured was empty. She wrapped up the book and slid it back into her pack, whispering an enchantment for it to stay hidden from other’s eyes while she went to investigate.

She also took her dagger with her. It was, she had found, a good idea to have a back up for magic.

There was a gate connecting the two yards, the one next to Adaire a tangle of weeds that she picked her way through in order to get to the back door. When she tried the back door it was already open, splinters of wood fraying at the busted lock. Adaire frowned, drawing her dagger and opening the door as quietly as possible.

The house smelt musty, which she was expecting, and slightly smokey, which she was not.

She held her breath, listening. The floorboards above her creaked, a person shifting their weight, perhaps.

Adaire took a deep breath. “Hello?” 

The house was silent.

“I heard the noise, I just want to make sure everything’s okay in here,” continued Adaire, moving towards the stairs.

“Everything’s fine!” called a woman’s voice. “I, uh, I just dropped something!”

“Are you sure?” Adaire called back, raising her voice to cover the sound of the stairs creaking under her feet.

The smell of smoke grew stronger as Adaire got closer to the second floor.

“Yes, yeah, everything’s totally fine,” said the woman.

Adaire stepped on to the second floor landing. The smell of smoke was even stronger now. She could see the woman standing in what had probably been a bedroom, once, facing away from the doorway towards the fireplace.

“You know-” began Adaire.

The woman jumped, spinning around. The flames on her hands were as bright as her red hair.

“Uh,” said Adaire, “Okay.”

The woman shook her hands, the way you might shake them to flick water off, quickly stamping at the embers as they landed on the dusty floor.

“Listen,” said the woman, “I, uh-” She drew herself up. “What are you doing in my house?”

“You don’t live here,” said Adaire, “nobody does.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I was assured of that when I agreed to stay next door.”

The woman’s shoulders sagged.

“Listen,” said Adaire, “I’m not going to tell on you, I was just making sure nothing dangerous was happening next to me. If you want to do magic in here-”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” said the woman quickly.

Adaire held up her hands. “Hey, I picked my place to do the exact same thing, so I’m not gonna judge.”

“What?”

“Well, you know, it’s quiet, it’s cheap, it’s a good practise space-”

“No, I mean, you can do…” Flames sprouted from the woman’s palms again, dancing on her skin.

“Well. Not exactly, not like you’re doing it, I don’t think…” Adaire leaned closer, trying to see. “May I?”

The woman nodded and Adaire stepped forward, carefully, slowly, as much to avoid startling the woman as to make sure she wasn’t a threat. She reached out, touching her wrist lightly and the woman flinched back.

“Hey, it’s okay, I just want to see a little better Ms…?”

“Hella. Just Hella is fine.”

“Hella,” said Adaire, “I’m Adaire, and I know what I’m doing. Just let me see.”

Hella swallowed. “Are you sure? Fire can be… it’s dangerous.”

“I’m sure you have it under control,” said Adaire.

Hella made a face. “Not to worry you, but I don’t know about that.”

Adaire smiled, putting her fingers again on Hella’s wrist, lightly, to get Hella’s hands to where she could more easily see them. She could feel the heat of the flames, warming her skin, the magic pulsing in Hella’s palms.

“You have more than you think,” said Adaire softly, “to be able to hold it like this.”

“It gets away from me, sometimes,” said Hella.

“That’s just practise,” said Adaire, “I mean, it’s like anything. You start out with the basics and you practise until you’re better.”

“Is that… is that what you do?”

Adaire thought of the spellbook, dragged with her from place to place as she memorised its contents.

“Yes,” said Adaire.

She looked up at Hella. The firelight from her hands illuminated her face, making her freckles seem to dance on her skin.

“I could...,” said Adaire, “I’m here to practise, actually. So if you ever wanted to stop by, or...whatever, you know. If you needed a place.” She glanced around the room, wrinkling her nose. “I mean, you can’t possibly want to stay  _ here _ and do it.”

“I don’t-” Hella flushed. “I don’t really have anywhere else to stay.”

“So stay with me.”

The words were out of Adaire’s mouth before she could stop them, and she surprised herself by how much she meant them.

“With you?”

Adaire shrugs, affecting as much of a casual tone as she could manage. “Yeah, sure.”

“You’re not… I’m dangerous,” said Hella, “I… I picked this house because I thought no one else was around, I’m sorry to have disturbed you, I-”

Adaire slid her hands around Hella’s wrists. “Hey. Hella. I know we just met, but something you should know about me is that I don’t make offers if I don’t intend to keep them.”

“But-”

“You’re dangerous, yes, you said,” said Adaire, “people have said that about me, too. We can be dangerous together.”

Hella swallowed. “I can’t guarantee I won’t burn the house down.”

“Neither can I,” said Adaire.

For the first time, Hella smiled. A small smile, but there nevertheless, warming Adaire as much as the fire in Hella’s hands was.

  
  
  


\--

  
  
  


_ Lem _

It started with small things, A few pebbles, a purple feather, a small notebook. They were such little things, and so plentiful in the Archives, surely no one would miss them, even if they were supposed to be reserved for use in the pattern. There was so many of them, surely no one would even know if he took them. 

The items got a little larger. A book, borrowed from the library and not returned. A pair of fine leather boots. A missing book was probably part of  _ some _ ones pattern, and really, the boots suited him much better than they suited a dusty old shelf. It seemed silly to just leave them on a shelf for the sake of a pattern that might never come. 

Next was furniture. Lem swapped his wobbly stool for a plush lounge chair. He took his desk apart and switched it out, piece by piece, for one made of polished, curved metal. He took more books, until he ran out of shelf space.

And  _ still _ no one noticed. 

It probably, in retrospect, made Lem a little more brazen than he should have been. 

A chest came in to the Archives, full of bright new coins that a retrieval team had taken from somewhere-or-other, but even more than that, there was a set of delicate looking daggers on the shelf right next to them. They itched at Lem even after he'd passed into another room. He  _ knew  _ they were there, unguarded, just  _ left  _ there until someone could figure out what to use them for. 

Perhaps... thought Lem, perhaps  _ that  _ was the pattern of it. Perhaps he was  _ supposed  _ to take them. Besides, it wasn’t even really stealing, when you took something from the Archives. You couldn’t steal something that had already been stolen. He was pretty sure that was a law, somewhere. 

The chest turned out to be much heavier than he’d thought, especially when he was carrying it while running through the Archives away from several guards. He was glad he’d thought to take the daggers too, even if he didn’t really have the hands free to use them. 

He ducked through a doorway, skidding around a corner to-

"Shit," said Lem. 

He'd forgotten this way was a rope ladder. 

"Stairs are to the  _ left," _ groaned Lem. 

He could hear the guards thundering closer. He looked down at the chest in his arms. He looked up at the rope ladder. 

"Well," said Lem, "Okay."

Lem took two handfuls of coins, stuffing them into the pockets of his coat, and grabbed hold of the rope ladder.

He paused, looking back at the chest, still piled high with coins. 

He turned back, grabbing two more handfuls.

"There he is!"

"Oh," said Lem, "wait, uh, the thing is, you see-"

Lem turned and took a running jump at the ladder, climbing like his life depended on it, which it very much did in this moment. He could feel the ladder shake as the guards began to climb after him. They were climbing slightly slower, holding their swords in their hands as they moved. Their lack of speed would have been reassuring if the swords weren't so very large. 

Lem made it to the top and immediately started hacking at the ropes with the daggers, barely slicing through it in time, the weight of the guards helping to fray the rope. He heard the guards fall back down with a sickening thud. 

He peered over the edge. It was, thankfully, too dark to see what kind of damage he'd caused. 

"Uh," said Lem, "Sorry about that!"

He took off running, and he didn’t ever really stop.

  
  
  


\--

  
  
  


Lem quite liked Rosemerrow. There were lots of people, lots of crowds, and  _ lots  _ of tourists who were more concerned with looking up at the carefully-curated architecture of Rosemerrow instead of at their purses. Really, it was almost  _ too  _ easy. 

He headed slowly back to the inn he was staying at, walking carefully so as not to make too much noise as he walked. He had, perhaps, gotten a  _ little _ carried away. There was a limit on how much was  _ practical _ to steal, even if it was so easy.

A halfling walked towards him, jacketless despite the cool night air, their eyes fixed on a point behind Lem. Their purse hung at their side, inviting. 

Well. Perhaps  _ one  _ more couldn't hurt. As they passed by one another, Lem reached for the purse.

The halfling's movements were so fast as to be almost a blur in Lem's vision - one moment Lem’s fingers were around the purse and the next he was on the ground with the wind knocked out of him, the hand holding the halfling's purse pinned to the ground. 

"That's mine," said the halfling. 

"Is it?" said Lem, "I seem to be in possession of it right now-"

The grip on his wrist tightened, the rough pavestones digging into the back of his hand. 

"-but perhaps I was mistaken," finished Lem, relaxing his grip on the purse. 

"Yeah, you were," said the halfling. He opened the purse, nodding as he saw the contents were still there. 

"Can you, uh, get off my chest?"

"I don't know," said the halfling, "what’ll you do it I do that?"

"Nothing you can't handle, I expect," said Lem. 

The halfling considered this a moment. "Yeah, I guess you were pretty easy to knock down for a big guy."

The halfling slid off him, offering Lem a hand up. Lem eyes the hand suspiciously. 

The halfling rolled his eyes. "Come on." He wriggled his fingers. 

"How do I know that you're not going to knock me down again?" said Lem, "Given how  _ easy  _ it was."

"Where the fun in that?" said the halfling. "Come on." He put a hand on his chest. "Fighters honour."

"I didn't know that was a thing," said Lem, "In fact, I'm sure it's not."

"Fero's honour then."

"What's a Fero?"

"I am." he wriggled his fingers again. "Come on. We can't stay here all night, you'll get a sore back from the pavestones."

Lem sighed. "Okay, but no tricks."

"I only do tricks in the ring," said Fero. 

Despite the difference in size, Fero pulled him to his feet as easily as he had knocked him to the ground. He grinned up at Lem.

"There, see?" said Fero, "easy!"

Lem considered him for a moment. “Yes.”

“Even  _ with  _ all the gold in your pockets,” continued Fero.

“What-” Lem looked around hurriedly, lowering his voice, “what do you mean?”

“All the extra stuff you got on you,” said Fero, continuing to speak at what seemed to Lem to be an outrageously loud volume. “Oh, hey, did you steal that too?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Lem, “I apologise for our misunderstanding, but I really must be getting on-”

Fero caught his sleeve. Either Lem was suddenly getting rusty or this halfling moved incredibly fast. Lem looked down at him but instead of the scowl that usually accompanied accusations of  _ theft _ , Fero’s face was grinning and open.

“Hey, come on,” said Fero, “it was just a  _ question _ , I’m not going to  _ do _ anything.”

Lem didn’t move. “What about what you did just now?”

Fero mamade kes a face. “Well, that’s different, that’s  _ my _ stuff, I fought really hard for that. Literally! Like ten minutes ago!” When Lem still didn’t move he rolled his eyes, finally letting go of Lem’s sleeve and holding up his hands. “Fine! See, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Lem blinked. “I… didn’t think you were?”

This time it was Fero’s turn to look surprised. “Oh! Well, good!”

“Is there a reason I would think that?”

Fero shrugged. “I mean, some people do, even though I really  _ do _ just fight in the ring.” He paused. “Or if someone starts talking shit about me.” He paused again. “Or if someone’s being just like,  _ really _ rude.”

“I… see.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Fero, “I don’t think stealing stuff is that rude.”

“Will you stop saying that?” said Lem, glancing over his shoulder.

The streets were empty, but all that meant was that voices carried more easily.

“What? That you’re a thief?” said Fero, raising his voice.

Lem shushed him, a fluttery-panic settling in his stomach despite the fact that they were, essentially, alone.

“This is  _ Rosemerrow _ , that’s like a cultural hobby here,” said Fero, waving a hand, “I mean, no one’s going to-”

Lem saw the movement of the patrol in the corner of his eyes before Fero finished the sentence. Unlike Fero, they  _ were _ wearing a very familiar scowl.

“You!” said one of the patrol.

“Shit,” said Lem.

Lem looked at Fero. Fero looked back at Lem. The patrolman broke into a run, calling to other behind him.

“I should probably-” began Lem.

Fero tugged at his sleeve, pulling him towards an alleyway. “Let’s go!”

Fero led him through the alley, then another. Lem slammed a hand on a wall to help him twist quickly around a corner to follow Fero, struggling to keep pace. He had no idea where they were going, but the halfling seemed to know the streets a great deal better than Lem did.

Lem skidded to a halt in front of a high wall. “A dead end! Fero-!”

Fero was already taking a few steps backwards. “No, it’s not, you just jump over it.”

“Over that?!”

Fero stretched his neck from one side to the other, his muscles flexing under the skin. “Yeah, it’s easy, come on.”

“I…”

Fero’s eyes flicked back to Lem. “I mean, if you don’t think you could jump it I could give you a boost?”

“A boost?” said Lem skeptically.

There was a clatter from outside the alleyway, the hurried footsteps of a group.

“Yes, yes, alright,” said Lem.

Lem did feel a moment of panic as he stepped into Fero’s grip. Fero might have got him to the ground earlier, but that was a surprise attack, not a feat of strength. He half-expected Fero to buckle under the weight of him but Fero barely flinched, lifting him smoothly up to where he could reach the top of the wall. Lem scrambled at the old bricks for a moment before he pulled himself up.

When he looked back down Fero had already stepped back to his running-start position. From this height, Lem could also see the approaching patrol. He should leave. The opposite side of the wall was closer to the ground, easy to jump down and leave the halfling to whatever justice Rosemerrow had for him.

As Lem shifted on the wall, his sleeve caught on the old brick, the tug of it making him think of Fero’s actions moments ago, pulling him away, out of trouble.

“ _ Hurry up _ ,” Lem hissed.

Fero waved hand, bouncing on the balls of his feet for a moment. The patrol was almost at the corner now, moving slower, a practiced steadiness to their movements.

“ _ Fero _ ,” said Lem.

Fero darted forward, throwing himself up the wall and scrambling until one hand slapped down on top next to where Lem was crouched, waiting for him. He pulled himself up beside Lem, grinning.

“See? Easy!”

Lem huffed a breath. “Let’s get out of here before they catch up to us.”

“Okay,” said Fero. He hopped down from the wall and turned back towards Lem. “So, where do you want to go? Have you have dinner? Because there’s this great place right around the block from here, good food, cheap rooms, no questions.”

Lem glanced back towards the wall, listening for a moment. The march of the patrol moved into the alley and out again, as though they had never been.

“I like the no questions part,” said Lem.

Fero grinned, delighted. “I thought you would! Come on.” They’d gone a few steps before Fero paused, looking up at Lem. “Hey- what’s your name?”

Lem blinked. “Oh, I-” he laughed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m Lem.”

“Is that your real name or your thief name?”

“What do you- thieves don’t have special names.”

Fero tilted his head to one side. “Sometimes they do! All kinds of professions do that.”

“What professions give you special names?”

“Actors,” said Fero, “And fighters, and thieves-”

“They do  _ not _ -”

It was by far the most fun night of arguing Lem had ever had. And, with Fero, it certainly wasn’t the last.

  
  
  


\--

  
  
  


_ Throndir _

Ever since Throndir could remember, a voice had called to him. In his dreams, but in his waking life too, helping him, guiding him.

_ Turn left _ , said The Voice, and at six years old he bumped into the boy who would become his best childhood friend.

_ Don’t eat that _ , said The Voice, and Throndir went to bed hungry but woke up the only one in his household without food poisoning. 

_ Careful _ , said The Voice, and Throndir caught himself on a branch just as the snow gave way under his feet.

People told him that he was lucky or, as he got older, that he had good instincts. Only his father knew about The Voice, and even he seemed not to believe it, and so Throndir stopped telling him when The Voice guided him one way or another.

_ He’d rather believe you have good instincts _ , said The Voice,  _ much easier for him to sleep at night _ .

Throndir sighed. The Voice was probably right, although this time he wished it weren’t.

He got older still. It got harder to pass his knowledge off as luck. Throndir wished he didn’t have to. It felt like taking credit for someone else’s hard work.

_ You could always ignore me _ .

“Never,” whispered Throndir, careful not to be overheard.

_ Others have,  _ says The Voice.  _ Others still do. _

Throndir said nothing. He wasn’t sure what to say when The Voice sounded like that, its deep voice taking on a tiredness that sunk into Throndir’s bones, pulling him down. He wished, sometimes, that he could offer some kind of comfort, to repay The Voice for all it had given him.

_ You do that already _ , said The Voice _ , by following my words. _

“That’s really all?” said Throndir softly.

_ Perhaps one day I will ask something of you _ , said The Voice,  _ but for now, this is enough _ .

People started disappearing from Aniq. The elders explained it away with talk of wild beast attacks, accidents, illness. It felt different than that. Something in their tone, or the air around them when they spoke… Throndir could  _ feel _ it.

_ They are liars _ , said The Voice.

Throndir had never heard The Voice have that tone to it before. It sounded almost… sad.

Throndir turned in his bed, facing the wall to muffle his voice. “What is it then? How can I help?”

_ You cannot _ , said The Voice,  _ You… it is beyond you. _

“But you  _ know _ ,” said Thorndir, “You  _ know _ what it is.”

_ I do _ , said The Voice,  _ I wish I did not. _

“Tell me,” said Throndir, “Tell me  _ please _ .”

There was a long pause, so long that Throndir started to think that The Voice had gone away from him, before it spoke again.

_ Get up. Put on your boots, and your travelling cloak. If you wish to learn this, you will have to leave this place, forever. _ The Voice paused.  _ Do you still wish to know _ ?

Throndir licked his dry lips. “Yes.”

_ Very well _ .  _ There will be no going back from this. _

The Voice guided him through the city, through weaving tunnels under Aniq where he had never been. It led him to the knowledge, as terrible and destructive as it had warned him it would be.

Throndir remembered flashes, after that. He remembered screaming, in horror, in anger. He remembered trying to explain, to tell other people. He remembered them turning away from him, averting their eyes as the guards threw him to the ground.

He father pushed a pack into his hands at the gates of the city.

“For you crime, for your lies you have tried to spread, you are never to return.”

He wouldn’t meet Throndir’s eyes.

“I know,” said Throndir.

He took a deep breath, and turned away from his home.

_ This way, _ said The Voice,  _ this way _ .

He walked in silence for a long time, no sound but the crunch of snow underfoot.

“Why tell me?” said Throndir, eventually, “Why tell me, when you  _ knew _ no one would listen to me?”

_ Because you listened to me, _ said The Voice,  _ Because I can trust you to hear my words _ .

Throndir braced himself against the wind, tugging his hood up. “Great, well, I won’t be able to do that for much longer out here.”

_ I am Kindrali _ , said The Voice,  _ Do not fear. Follow my words, as you always have, and I will keep you safe. _

  
  
  


\--

  
  
  


_ Hadrian _

Hadrian was a man of faith, in his own way. He had thought, for a time, of following that path, of dedicating his life and his heart to the works of Samothes. And then one day he had looked out upon the crowded pews and seen Rosana, and the song that had come to his lips was like no other he had ever sung and played before. He had felt both like the world had dropped away from him, and also that he was bursting with it, connected to all things in a rush of sun and life. 

When he had finished his song, Rosana had smiled at him - the first smile of many. And that was pretty much that.

It had seemed unfair to Samothes to try to split his heart. He’d always hoped that Samothes would understand his devotion, given how the god had devoted himself to his works. 

Hadrian still helped at the church, of course. Just because a man was not a paladin did not mean that a man could not repair homes, or make food, or visit people in need of company and a helping hand. He sung too, often. Rosana said it helped to revive the faith of those around him as surely as any sermon.

"And," said Rosana, laying her head on his shoulder, "I do like to hear you sing."

They had been married a little while, almost as long as he had clumsily courted her, but still Hadrian felt himself flush. 

"I guess I'll keep at it then."

He sung, cheering the hearts of farmers when there wasn’t the rain or sun for their fields, to distract from empty bellies when food ran short, to ease people's worries at the end of a long day. It helps, or, it  _ felt  _ like it did. People's shoulders relaxed under the music, smiling at one another. Food seemed to be split more easily. The farmers joked that he was their good weather charm.

It was nice, to feel as though he helped. It was what Samothes would want. Probably. It was hard to tell. There were supposed to be  _ signs _ . It was possible he'd missed them, in the music. 

Although. 

He did have dreams, sometimes, of the deep heat of a forge's fire, or a swirling cold wind. The  _ woosh, clink  _ of a hammer working metal or the howling of a wolf. The wolf had sounded closer, of late, tracking close behind Hadrian as he struggled against the fierce wind of the dream. 

He reached out, half asleep, and scribbled out a melody for the wolf with violet eyes, and fell back into a dreamless sleep. 

He did his best to shrug the dreams off during his waking hours, the music helping to clear it from his mind as he moved about their small kitchen, preparing breakfast. Rosana joked that the food was always more flavoursome when he sung over it. 

It wasn't until later that he saw the melody he'd written down. He barely remembered writing it, but as he stared at the notes on the page the dream faded back into focus, until he could feel the chill wind on his skin and the soft crunch of the snow under the wolf's paws, ever closer. 

He almost dropped his guitar, his hands suddenly sweaty. Hadrian froze. He didn’t remember picking it up.

The guitar called out to him to play the song, the sound of it bright in his mind. His hands only hesitated a moment. The music had never steered him wrong before, so he followed it's lead, as he had done all his life. 

The song was cold, as he played, a chill settling in his bones. Hadrian hummed the melody as his fingers moved along the strings. The wolf in his mind shifted into a man, the same piercing, violet eyes staring into him. 

_ Oh,  _ sighed the man, his voice as musical as the song he'd been brought by,  _ oh, is it time already?  _

The guitar slipped from Hadrian's hands, clattering to the ground.

"Hadrian?" Rosana called from the other room, "Are you alright?"

"'m fine," Hadrian managed to say, "just dropped something."

He knelt stiffly, examining the guitar. There were thin cracks running along the back of the guitar now like lightning through the wood, although it looked to be holding together well enough. Hadrian tested the wood with his fingers tentatively. It didn’t bend, as though the crack had already been sealed with polish and glue. 

"Lucky," said Hadrian softly to himself. 

"What is?"

Hadrian looked up to see Rosana at the doorway, leaning one hip against the frame. 

"Me, I guess," said Hadrian, "dropped my guitar, but I think it's survived."

Rosana smiled, moving to slide her arms around his shoulders. "A good thing too, how else would people- oh, Hadrian, you're freezing!"

Hadrian thought of the swirling wind. "Am I?"

Rosana rubbed her hands up and down his arms, trying to warm him. "What were you  _ doing  _ in here?"

Hadrian thought of the snow and the beautiful man with striking eyes. "Just… playing. I dreamt of a song last night and I wanted to see what it sounded like when I was awake."

"Perhaps you should leave it in dreams, if it makes you this cold in the middle of summer."

"I don't know," said Hadrian. Even now, the song slipped away from him as he tried to grasp for it. "It feels important."

Rosana made a thoughtful sound. "Perhaps you should speak to the prelate."

"Maybe," said Hadrian, "Next time I see him, if he's not busy. It's just a song from a dream, after all."

  
  
  


\----

  
  
  


It was a strange thing, to march with an army that was not Ordennan. Much of the strangeness came from how little difference there was in the day-to-day of it - setting up the camp, preparing for battle, managing supplies, the things people did to keep morale up.

“I think that’s the reason they let me join,” said Hadrian, his fingers playing over the strings absent mindedly.

Hella bumped their shoulders together. “Right, of course. Nothing to do with how you are with a blade.”

“I do alright,” said Hadrian, “but I’m better with a guitar. I  _ feel _ better with it, anyway.”

“Sure,” said Hella, “but you can’t exactly bring a guitar into battle.”

“I guess,” said Hadrian, “I’d almost feel better if I could.”

Hella laughed. “Going in without a sword?”

Hadrian huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t be the best idea, huh?”

“Maybe you could strap it to you back, like an extra shield.”

“Well I don’t want it to get  _ damaged _ ,” said Hadrian.

Hella’s eyes went to the cracks that ran along the back of Hadrian’s guitar.

“Well,” said Hadrian, “Any  _ more _ damaged. I’ve only got the one guitar.”

“The army could get you a new one,” said Hella, “since it’s your weapon now.”

“Yeah, but this one’s sentimental,” said Hadrian, “the church gave it to me, sort of.”

“The guitar of Samothes huh?” said Hella, grinning. “I didn’t know he was a musical kind of guy.”

“Music is creation,” said Hadrian seriously.

Hella laughed.

“It is! Probably not the way the church usually means it but it’s always felt… I don’t know. It feels like doing His work in the way I can,” said Hadrian.

“I was just joking Hadrian,” said Hella, not unkindly, “you don’t actually have to justify to why you play guitar, even if it is from your god.”

“It’s… I mean, it’s not really  _ from  _ him,” said Hadrian, “I just… found it in the church one day while I was there, and no one else wanted it, so the priest said I could have it, and it was easy enough to learn.”

Hadrian’s hands slowed, the song becoming more melancholy, reminding Hella of rainy days on the sea. She bumped their shoulders together again, making his hand slip and shifting the somber expression off his face.

“And learn you have,” said Hella.

“And learn I have!” echoed Hadrian, “You know, people  _ have _ said-”

There was yelling from outside the tent. They both turned towards the noise.

“Was that-?” Hadrian started to say.

Hella held up a hand, listening. The clash of swords, hooves.

“Ambush,” said Hella.

She grabbed her sword, running out of the tent towards the battle. She could hear Hadrian behind her, calling others to arms, directing the flow of battle.

“See,” said Hella, over her shoulder, “I told you, you’re fine at- where’s your sword?”

“My-” Hadrian looked down at the guitar in his hands. He looked back up at Hella, a helpless expression on his face. “I was so sure I grabbed it.”

“Go,” said Hella, “I’ll cover things here.”

“I was so  _ sure _ ,” said Hadrian.

She shoved at his shoulder. “ _ Go _ Hadrian! I don’t actually want to see how well your guitar holds up as a shield.”

She turned, calling forth the flames to run along her blade. She took a breath, taking in the scene in front of her. They were doing well at holding their own despite the ambush. Hella threw herself into the frey, heading for those on horseback first. Horses, she had found, were easily startled by fire, enough so that even the most well-trained steed could turn to chaos.

She dispatched those in her path, heading back towards the ragged edges of the battle to get the scope of it. Her stomach sank. They were still holding them off, sure, but it wasn’t enough. They need something, an unexpected batch of reinforcements, a failure in enemy weaponry, a turn in the weather,  _ something _ .

There was a sound behind her, unexpected in the discord of battle. Music.

Hella turned, mouth agape as she watched Hadrian step forward, eyes closed and guitar in hand. She wasn’t the only one - a man charged at Hadrian, axe held high.

“Hadrian-!”

The music changed, soft gentle notes suddenly striking, somehow louder than they had been before, making her gasp. The man who had been charging Hadrian stumbled, his axe falling from his grip as he sank to his knees. Hadrian stepped closer, and the man clutched the sides of his head, letting out a strangled yell before he lay still.

Hadrian stepped over him, still playing, enemy soldiers falling as he moved past them.

Hella slapped the arm of one of the Velasian soldiers near her. “Well! What are you waiting for?”

The soldier shook himself, changing back into the battle. Hella did the same, following in Hadrian’s wake to make sure those he felled could not get back up. She felt the tide of the battle turning in their favour, cheers from some of the Velasians as the last of those on horseback were pulled down, enemy banners trampled underfoot.

As Hadrian reached to opposite side of battlefield, he stumbled, Hella catching him around the waist before he could fall to his knees. She could feel him trembling, taking ragged breaths.

“Hadrian, can you hear me?”

He blinked up at her, frowning. “Hella? What… what happened? I- Did I really just-”

“Yes.”

Hadrian straightened. Hella kept a hand on his shoulder, feeling him sway under her grip.

“I-” Hadrian licked his lips, looking down at the guitar in his hands. “I went back, to get my sword but then I- there was a voice, speaking to me, guiding me. I have never wanted anything more in my life than to obey that voice.”

“It told you to walk into battle with your eyes closed?”

“The voice told me that my guitar would be my weapon,” said Hadrian, “and that I would be safe from harm as long as I had it in my posession.” He grip tightened, white-knuckled on the guitar. “Samothes has worked through me.”

“I… don’t know if that’s it,” said Hella slowly.

Hadrian looked up, frowning. “What else could it be?”

“Magic,” said Hella.

Hadrian’s frown deepened. “But I can’t do magic.”

“You just did.  _ That _ ,” said Hella, gesturing back towards the slowly-clearing battlefield, “was magic, and  _ you _ were doing it.”

Hadrian looked from her face to the guitar. “Perhaps My Lord has seen fit to bless me with it.”

Hella huffed something that was half laughter-half frustration. That was probably as close as she was going to get to Hadrian taking credit for his own abilities.

“Maybe he has.”

Hadrian tapped his fingers on the wood of the guitar, a hollow sound. “I should start training in it. I don’t want that to happen every time I play a song.”

Hella did laugh at that, slinging her arm over his shoulders. “You know, I know a woman who’s great at helping train magical people. When we get back, I’ll introduce you.”

  
  
  


\----

  
  
  


_ Ephrim _

Ephrim had spent his whole life without a home.

Or, that wasn’t quite right. He’d never had a  _ house _ . The whole of Hieron was his  _ home _ .

Every small town the caravans stopped in, every forest they travelled through, every stream they rested by, Ephrim made a home in all of them. He spoke to people of all kinds, spreading Samothes’s words as he’d been taught and, more often than not, learning a thing or two from someone there. The easiest way to begin a conversation was always to ask someone about their craft, and mostly that craft was hunting, or tracking, or foraging in the forest.

It was frowned upon as a distraction from his studies, but not so much that anyone ever told him  _ not _ to, probably because he actually used the knowledge to find food when supplies were low and to spot signs of bandits before they had a chance to ambush the caravan.

As he grew older and his time was more of his own, he found that he gave more of it over to the woods, learning the paths of animals as well as people. He almost missed the leaving of the caravan, more than once, too deep in the forest and his own thoughts to get back by the appointed hour.

“Ephrim,” said Alyosha, “ _ there _ you are.”

“Yes, sorry I-”

“I hope you got the flowers I asked you to find for me,” said Alyosha, over the top of him. “I need something for a long journey such as this.”

“Oh, right, yes, I do,” said Ephrim.

“Wonderful,” said Alyosha, “This way.”

He ushered Ephrim into his caravan, ignoring the frowns of the other Disciples at Ephrim’s lateness. The caravan jolted as it began to move, and Ephrim hurried to sit beside Alyosha. They rode in silence for a few minutes, no other sound but the rolling of the wheels over the rocky ground.

“These flowers don’t help ease pain,” said Ephrim, “they’re supposed to help keep infections out of wounds.” He frowned. “I think.”

“I would hope you would be more sure, before you try it on anyone,” said Alyosha.

“I- so you  _ knew _ it was the wrong plant?”

“Of course,” sid Alyosha calmly, “but you get so much joy from the forest, Ephrim. I cannot blame you for wanting to bask in Samothes’ creations.”

“Right,” said Ephrim.

They fell back into silence. Ephrim fiddled with the flowers in his hands, worrying at the stems with his nail.

“Although,” said Alyosha suddenly, “If, perhaps, there was another reason for your trips…”

“Like what?” said Ephrim.

Alyosha sighed. “I don’t know, Ephrim. Only you know that.” He paused, looking out the window. “All my life, I have followed the path Samothes has set for me and for the most part I have never thought to look outside it.” He looked back towards Ephrim. “But, I think, it is not so for you.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Ephrim, “Are you saying I can’t travel with the caravan any more?”

“Not at all,” said Alyosha, “But I think perhaps you should look into your truest heart, and see if this path is the one your heart wants to follow.” He reached out, squeezing Ephrim’s hand for a moment before letting go. “Just… think about it.”

He did. The next time they stopped Ephrim avoided the town entirely, giving in to the pull of the forest, the new things that could learn there.

When the caravan left, he waved it goodbye.

  
  
  


\----

  
  
  


Throndir marched through the woods, moving swiftly despite the new weight of Kindrali’s armour. It still felt strange to wear it, although Kindrali assured him that he would come to be as used to it as snowboots.

_ And it will keep you much safer than simple boots _ .

“Oh yeah?” said Throndir, “How’s that?”

_ It is my armour. I know it’s worth. _

“If you say so,” said Throndir.

His words were dismissive, but he knew Kindrali could feel the roll of emotions that came through him each time he was reminded that it was Kindrali’s armour he wore, Kindrali who kept him safe.

Well. Kindrali and Kodiak. The big dog had attached himself to Throndir a few days ago and shown himself to be more than valuable in a fight, and he was a pleasant travelling companion to boot. The nights travelling through the forest with him had been much more comfortable than Throndir’s usual fare, since Kodiak could lead him to caves out of the wind and rain, the places where wild fruits that Throndir recognised grew. He’d bounded off a few moments ago, disappearing in the trees, but Throndir wasn’t too worried about him just yet, Kodiak had done that off-and-on as they’d travelled-

_ Duck _ !

“What?” said Throndir, but he was already moving, the arrow impaling in a tree where his head had been moments ago.

Throndir rolled to the side, drawing his sword, the curling goblin script on the side catching the moonlight. He turned, slowly, watching to trees for any sign of movement.

“Who’s there?”

_ The Ranger _ .

“Who’s the Ranger?”

Another arrow, and Throndir sprang to the side to avoid its blow.

“Show yourself!” said Throndir.

There was a rustle above him and a hooded figure dropped down. Throndir and the Ranger circled each other warily, weapons in hand. The Ranger dated forward, landing a blow but missing another. Throndir’s blade cut empty air, coming up just in time to block a blow.

“Where the hell is he?” hissed the Ranger..

“Where is  _ who _ ?” said Throndir, “I don’t even know who you  _ are _ !”

The Ranger sprang back, and they fell into circling each other again.

“Do not play the fool. You called me The Ranger just now.”

“That was…” Throndir trailed off. It had never been wise to reveal the source of his knowledge. “ _ Why _ did you  _ attack _ me?”

The Ranger lunged for him again, Throndir barely managing to bring his blade up to catch the blow in time.

“Did you really not know?”

Throndir dodged two strikes, catching the stranger in the side before he moved back.

“I really don’t,” said Throndir.

“You- you stole my dog!”

Throndir stumbled, the Ranger using the opening to press forward, tripping Throndir so he landed on his back. The Ranger held an arrow under Throndir’s chin, scratching at the skin.

“Where is he?”

“Listen, I don’t know what you’re talking about-”

The Ranger made a noise of frustration, pushing their hood back to reveal delicate features and flame-bright hair, his eyes flashing with rage.

“You  _ know _ ,” said the Ranger.

Throndir’s hand crept to the hilt of his sword. If he could just reach it… just a little more…

_ Hold _ .

Throndir was sure his confusion showed on his face, which only served the make the Ranger’s scowl deepen.

_ You will not be harmed by this man. Hold. _

Throndir stilled. There was the space of one heartbeat, then another, and then- a bark.

The Ranger turned, surprise a relief showing on his face. “ _ Kodiak _ !”

Kodiak bounded up to him, jumping on the Ranger and knocking thehimm to the ground beside Throndir. He didn’t seem to mind, letting out a delighted laugh as he ruffled the dog’s fur.

Throndir sat up slowly, the movement making Kodiak turn to him, jumping over to him and giving Throndir the same treatment.

“Okay, okay buddy, good to see you too.” He looked up at the Ranger. “How do you know Kodiak?”

The Ranger glared at him. “Kodiak is  _ my _ dog.”

“Oh,” said Throndir. “ _ Oh _ , you thought- oh man, I am so sorry. I didn’t know he was lost, otherwise I would have tried to find you!”

“You thought he just lived out here. Alone.”

Throndir shrugged. “Maybe, I mean, people do.”

The Ranger’s glare lost some of its coldness. “Yes.” he paused. “So, what exactly have you been doing out here?”

“Uh, walking, mostly,” said Thondir, “I went to get this armour-” he gestured to himself “-and on the way back through the forest I guess maybe I got a little turned around. Kodiak’s been helping me get back.”

The Ranger’s mouth quirked up into a smile. “Well, that  _ does _ sound like you, doesn’t it boy?”

Kodiak barked happily, trotting over to sit in between them. Throndir reached out to ruffle his fur and the Ranger did too, their hands brushing.

“Sorry,” said Thorndir, drawing his hand back.

“No, it’s-” The Ranger ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I... overreacted a little bit, it’s just that- Kodiak’s like family, you know?”

“No, yeah, I get it,” said Throndir, “He’s been- it’s been really great to travel with him. Don’t know that I would’ve made it this far without him. And he’s great to talk to.”

Kodiak barked again, looking from one of them to the other.

“I… listen,” said the Ranger. “Where are you headed?”

_ Velas _ , said Kindrali.

“Velas,” said Throndir.

The Ranger raised his eyebrows. “That’s… quite a way.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Throndir.

Kodiak barked again, drawing the Ranger’s attention. He frowned. Kodiak let out another bark, moving to sit next to Throndir.

“I-” he huffed a breath. “Fine. Did you want some help finding your way to Velas?”

_ Yes _ , said Kindrali.

“Yeah,” said Throndir, “that would be great actually. I kind of don’t know how to get there, like, at all.”

“Strange kind of destination to choose then.”

“I guess,” said Thorndir.

The Ranger stuck out his hand. “Ephrim.”

“Ah, Throndir.”

Kodiak butted his head on their joined hands.

Throndir laughed and Ephrim grinned, both of them moving to ruffle his fur again. This time, when their hands brushed, neither of them pulled back.

“I guess I can share him,” said Ephrim, “just until Velas.”

  
  
  


\----

  
  
  


_ Fantasmo _

Plants had always felt more reasonable to Fantasmo than people. Plants were  _ sensible _ . They did just what they ought to do when they ought to do it. They had very direct goals and they went about achieving them in a very direct way. Plants did not ask more of you than they need, nor did they expect your help.

Still, the University had asked him to teach botanical studies, and so botanical studies he would teach, even if it was hard to describe the true majesty of the animal and plant kingdom to those who could not speak to the creatures in question themselves.

He carried one of two small plants with him, tucked into the pockets of the thick apron he wore, for company.

“And,” said Fantasmo, “because quite often they’re the only other sensible voices in the room.”

Despite the students, he did quite enjoy his work at the University and then-

The Erasure.

A difficult time. Fantasmo retreated to the forest, safe from the chaos the Erasure created, until the trees told him it was safe to emerge. He walked out of the forest and into a practically-empty Velas.

They had greenhouses there, plenty of them, and they all needed a guiding hand. Fantasmo spent his days behind warm glass with small growing things, coaxing them into the world.

The Erasure had not changed all things, and perhaps there was some comfort in that. The plants he carried with him were still, often, the most sensible voices in the room.

  
  


(Arrell, for his part, was thinking perhaps too much of how Alyosha looked in the garden when he did this particular spell.

_ Ah well _ , he thought,  _ a disguise is a disguise. _ ) 

  
  
  


\----

  
  
  


As soon as Fantasmo saw the younger elf he could sense another being presence on him, another guiding force at work in the branching path of his life. It was most curious. It was also flattering, of course, for another being to look up to you so immediately as Throndir had.

It was also annoying. There was a reason Fantasmo had never really enjoyed doing office hours.

“So, where you grew up, it never snowed?”

“Rarely,” said Fantasmo, moving to the next row of plants.

Throndir followed. “So what did you do when it  _ did _ snow?”

“We avoided going outside-” Fantasmo flung out a hand, stopping a tower of pots from falling off a shelf as Throndir brushed past them. “Will you  _ please _ be careful?”

“Sorry!” said Throndir, “Guess this place isn’t really built for armour, is it?”

“No,” said Fantasmo, “this greenhouse is highly unused to accommodating those in armour. If you were wanting to speak to me at such length, I wish that you had chosen more appropriate attire.”

“Oh,” said Throndir, “I never take this off.”

Fantasmo paused. “Never?”

“Well, you know,” said Throndir, his skin flushing slightly. “I take it off to… bathe. And stuff. But whenever I get dressed I put it on.”

“Do you truly expect attack at any moment?”

Throndir shrugged. “The, uh, person I got it from, he said it worked best if I kept it on.”

That made Fantasmo truly pause in his work, stepping towards Throndir, examining the symbols etched into the armour for the first time. Most were as he would have expected - protection, strength, health - but others-

“How fascinating,” said Fantasmo, “this symbol here, it relates specifically to- well, that species of plant have been gone for quite some time.”

Throndir twisted, peering at it. “Oh, yeah, I guess. I don’t think it does anything.”

Fantasmo hummed. “I don’t believe so, I would think that the meaning would transfer onto something else, something similar in nature. Very interesting.”

“Thanks?”

Fantasmo nodded, his mind still turning over the odd symbols. “Are you in Velas long?”

“I- I don’t know, to be honest,” said Throndir, “I’m kind of just...waiting for the next sign of where I should go.”

“I see.”

“The food here’s really good?” continued Throndir, “So I’m just sort of hanging out, I guess.”

Fantasmo hummed again, turning back to his plants. “There is a vegetarian cafe around the corner that’s quite good.”

“Oh! Cool,” said Throndir, “I, uh, do you wanna go there, or…?”

“I will probably go there for dinner,” said Fantasmo. He could feel Throndir’s eyes on him, and he sighed. “If you would like to accompany me.”

“That would be great!” said Throndir, “I have so many more questions, I mean, I would just love to ask you-”

Fantasmo sighed, louder. Throndir continued on, undeterred. Fantasmo supposed that he at least appreciated the young man’s perseverance.

And it  _ would _ give him an opportunity to find out more about Throndir’s armour.

  
  
  
  


\----

  
  
  
  


Throndir and Ephrim waited at the docks, Kodiak watching their lines of pacing.

“They definitely said  _ today _ , right?” said Throndir.

“They’re probably just late,” said Ephrim, “or something.”

“I mean, maybe, but- oh, wait, there’s Fantasmo!” said Throndir, “Hey! Fantasmo!”

The elf merely raised his eyebrows in greeting, approaching them at a steady pace. “Are you the only ones to arrive?”

“So far,” said Throndir. “Uh, Fantasmo, this is Ephrim and Kodiak, Ephrim and Kodiak, meet Fantasmo.”

“Hi,” said Ephrim.

Fantasmo nodded in greeting, his eyes going to something behind Ephrim. Ephrim turned to see three humans heading towards them.

“Ah,” said Fantasmo, “the rest of our party.”

Throndir frowned. “Almost all. Wasn’t there supposed to be-”

There was the sound of running feet from the other direction.

“Hi! Hey! Don’t leave yet!” said Lem.

Fero, who was running beside him, slowed. “Oh, great, we’re not even the last here, we’re fine.”

“You’re right on time!” said Throndir, grinning. He turned towards Fantasmo. “Right?”

“Yes,” said Fantasmo shortly. He turned towards the boat, making his way up the gangplank.

Hella waved as they approached. “Hey, all ready to go?”

“As I’ll ever be, I suppose,” said Lem.

Fero looked up at the boat skeptically before following up the gangplank behind Lem.

Hadrian shifted the guitar on his back slightly, looking back at Hella as he headed on to the boat, Adaire following behind her.

“Alright,” said Throndir, “ _ now _ that’s everyone. Come on.”

Kodiak barked, following Throndir up the gangplank. Ephrim took one last look back at Velas before he turned back to the boat.

“Alright,” said Ephrim, “Isle of Eventide, here we come.”

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi: mariusperkins on most places


End file.
